A Familiar Chill
by gryffindor101
Summary: "I feel it. That familiar chill. I shiver slightly in my seat, listening and writing. But I don't dare to look back. Too much is revealed through the locking of eyes. I feel exposed, vulnerable. And I won't risk it." RosexScorpius ONESHOT


I feel it. That familiar chill. I shiver slightly in my seat, listening and writing. But I don't dare to look back. Too much is revealed through the locking of eyes. I feel exposed, vulnerable. And I won't risk it.

I watch the clock hands work their way around, over and over. An hour and a half, I repeat to myself. I want to get out; leave this room that's imprisoning me with its four thick walls. Suffocating me. I want to sink my head into the book before me, and be allowed to drown in my sorrows.

Instead, I stare blankly at the board ahead. _What a waste of precious time,_ I think. The professor writes something in her scrawly handwriting, and I hear a few quills around me being picked up and moving against parchment. Students copying down notes. I should do the same, but nothing is really comprehending. I can't grasp a single concept of what is being taught. In one ear and out the other.

Slowly the professor approaches my desk. She asks me for my assignment. I lift my chin from where it's propped in my left hand to look up at her. I tell her I wasn't here the day it was assigned. She nods, smiles, and moves on to the next student.

That's what I get for being the brightest witch of my age. Special treatment from all the professors. One uncompleted assignment won't change the straight Os I received on my O.W.L. examinations two years ago. Or the full marks I received on the last essay over the proper procedure to brew Felix Felicis. One day of slacking off doesn't kill the image of perfection I have developed for myself over the past six years. Unfortunately.

I rub my eyes tiredly, looking around the room. There in the front, the teacher's pets were turning in their neatly written papers. Just the right length. The information may or may not be correct, but the presentation is always perfect. On the right, the girls who pretend to work but gossip; thus resulting in only half completed essays. On the left, the jokers. The ones who may or may not have done their assignment. Depending on their mood of course. In the back, the one boy who for some reason prefers to sit alone. And then there's me and Eveline. Right in the center.

My best friend, who's been there with me through thick and thin, Eveline Creevy. We can get away with practically anything. The only two girls who pull pranks inside the walls of Hogwarts, alongside my cousins. The cousins get caught. We don't.

Eveline is the pretty kind. Light strawberry blonde hair, big brown eyes, and a figure that leaves all the guys staring and all the girls envying. Me? Well, I'm just me. The girl who locks eyes with lonely boy in the back of the classroom.

It's a quick moment in which I just happened to look back at the same time he looked up. And we both looked away just as quickly. It's become a bit of a habit I guess. I've never said a word to that boy and I don't plan to anytime soon. These exchanges between us are odd, I know. So I plan on stopping them soon. Well, maybe after this one last look.

I turn my neck and tuck a stray fiery red curl behind my ear for a better view. This time, he doesn't look back up. Not that it matters; he does this quite often to me. I watch as he stands up, his short blonde hair and pale skin getting paler as he leaves the darkened corner of the classroom and steps into the light.

I hear him walking towards the front. He stops at the professors's desk, laying his essay on top of the pile of other essays the professor had just finished collecting from the class. Of course the professor had forgotten to collect his essay. The professors always seemed to forget him. It was a shame really. Because I knew the only complete, precise, and most well written essay in that pile would be his.

I knew this. And I know he knows this. I watch the slight smirk on his face as he walks back to his sanctuary. He doesn't acknowledge my presence, yet I know his satisfaction comes from beating me. He turned in a perfect essay, and I turned in nothing. He's now a point ahead.

The clock strikes noon, and I jump out of my seat. I hastily close my notebook, the blank page finally disappearing from view, and stuff it along with my quill into the depths of my bag. I take one last look in his direction, slinging the bag onto my shoulder.

This time I wasn't just going to even out the score. It was our final year. The year the game would end, the victor announced. This time I was going to get so far ahead, lonely boy would have trouble catching up. Rose Weasley doesn't lose.

Especially not against Scorpius Malfoy.

* * *

It's strange how two people who had never uttered a single word to each other, could have such a big impact on each other's lives.

But it happens. Or at least it happened to Weasley and I.

Though we would never admit it out loud to anyone, I know as much as she does the way we can drive each other crazy. Not with words, but with looks. And marks.

Seven years ago, when we had both first boarded the Hogwarts Express, I had caught her eye for the first time. The red curls were hard to miss. My father had warned me about them. And by the way her lips suddenly straightened into a straight line as she took in my features, I knew her father had warned her of me. We had both been warned. So we looked away.

But not forever. How could we? It was our only way to communicate with each other; and communication was necessary. Who got the higher marks on the last exam? Who was made Prefect? Which House won the House Cup? Which Chaser had scored more points for their team in the last Quidditch match? For some reason we always needed to know. We needed to know the accomplishments of the other, to try to get one step ahead. Always wanting to be one step ahead. For some reason.

The competition was tough. And the habit hard to break. We were both the top of our class. The first to master each spell, each potion, each flying technique ever thrown our way. The ones who got full marks on their O., had been Prefects of their respective Houses, and were now Heads of Hogwarts. Weasley and Malfoy.

It was tiring, I must admit. Perfection doesn't come easily. Not at all. And sometimes I wish I could throw it all away. I wish I had't been so determined for the past six years to please my father. This was my life, and I should live it the way that I want to. So sometimes I would slack off.

But then I'd see Weasley brushing her hair out of her blue eyes, focusing on the spell she was performing. Her wand would swish in that intricate pattern. Precise. With a proud smile on her face, her eyes would flutter to where I was sitting. Oh so nonchalantly. But I knew the message was anything but. _I've mastered the spell Malfoy._ And my back would straighten up of its own accord. She was getting ahead. And I couldn't let that happen.

I like to believe that my competition with Weasley had been induced by my father's warning. But I know better. This was a personal thing. A goal I had set for myself that had nothing to do with my father. And this year I was going to reach that goal.

I had boarded the train this year, determined to beat Rose Weasley once and for all. I was going to try my hardest. Give it my all. But I knew Weasley would be doing just the same.

So you can understand my shock when Weasley failed to turn in only the third essay of the year. Was she serious? That was just pathetic. A completely easy O gone down the drain. This was our last year. Did she _want_ me to win? Was she giving up?

I smirked at the thought._ Too easy Weasley, you're making it too easy for me. _I communicate these words to her silently as I walk by her desk. I know she understands as I watch her anger building up inside. She attacks her books and quill, stuffing them violently in her bag. She looks back at me for a fleeting moment, but it's enough for me to catch that familiar spark of competitiveness in her eye as she swings her bag onto her shoulder.

Ah, there she is. _Welcome back Weasley._

__**I know that I'****ve declared this a oneshot and labeled it as complete, but I _do_ have half of a second chapter already written out. If I get positive feedback from this chapter, I'll think about adding on more :)**

_**So please...Review! :)**  
_


End file.
